#also yayyyy gwyn!!!

[ladynestaarcheron]

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Three

ao3 - masterpost

happy friday! here's chapter three, a little long, and dramatiqué so enjoy:)

canon fixes this week: 1) gwyn mentions the priestess who counsels them. nesta was never offered counseling. bullshit. 2) gwyn says they never talk about each other because they've all been through a lot. mm. okay. i went to a girls' school. you don't just not talk about anyone because they've been through a lot. it doesn't have to be cruel gossip, but you definitely still talk. and if someone is a bitch to you, then yeah, it's gossip.

---

When Nesta had first been brought into Prythian, right here into the House of Wind, she had often thought to herself that her life could not possibly get any worse. She was a faerie now, a monster, and Elain was wasting away before her eyes, and Feyre was off to no-one-would-tell-her-where doing no-one-would-tell-her-what. And every other day, Cassian would come by and interrupt her fear and anxiety to irritate her beyond belief.

‍And then the war happened, and the impossible happened. Her life did get worse.

‍And now she is here again, and it is...different. Sometimes worse. Sometimes better. Sometimes neither. But it's different this time.

‍This time, she doesn't have to be worried about her sisters. They're the ones who are worried about her. She isn't scared of her own reflection anymore--not comfortable in this immortal skin, but used to it nonetheless. And most striking...Cassian doesn't seek her out.

‍He doesn't sit with her for breakfast, though the healer, Daphne does come up every morning to check up on her (unnecessary. She is miserable and in pain, but stable). She hears him during the day, making rounds around the House, or doing something up on the roof, but she doesn't see him while the sun is out. He meets her once for dinner, to watch her take her mock liquor, and then once again when she hurls out her insides in the middle of the night.

‍And then the week is over, and he is gone.

‍Feyre is there to greet her for breakfast.

‍"I hear you slept the night!" she says, enthusiastic.

‍Nesta doesn't answer.

‍"You've detoxed," Feyre says. "I...I'm really proud of you. I know that was a long five days. Elain's proud of you, too. She sends her love."

‍Nesta nods slightly. She sits down at her usual spot at the head of the table, the chair dragging itself out to meet her.

‍Feyre notices. "Kind of creepy, isn't it? The magic all on its own?"

‍"I don't mind it," Nesta says.

‍On the contrary. The first morning she had awoken here, she had desperately wanted to bathe. But she stumbled into the bathroom and her body had seized up as she imagined herself sinking in the tub. Sinking...drowning...getting pulled under and never getting out. Perhaps it was being back here, but she had asked the House for some buckets, and reverted to her old practice of washing herself.

‍She had fully intended to accept her fate, coming to terms with the fact that while she was in the House, forcing herself to sit in the tub would be far too difficult, and she'd have to suffer through being covered in her own sick for a week, but on the second morning, the House had gifted her with an out.

‍The tub, ridiculously wide and deep--to accommodate wings, she realizes now--was still there, but hanging from the ceiling, almost like a chandelier, was a faucet. The House had turned on the water for her; she hadn't known what it was. The water came out like rain, with dozens of tiny streams instead of one the size of a fist, like in the bath. And she could...stand under it.

‍Nesta still isn't quite sure how much the House can hear, or if it cares. But she takes extra care to say please and thank you now, for things she wouldn't have bothered before.

‍"Well, at any rate," Feyre says, pulling her back to the present. "You'll be starting at the library today. Are you ready?"

‍Nesta shrugs.

‍"Do you want me to walk you down?"

‍No. Maybe. No. "Do...are girls normally escorted in?" she asks carefully.

‍"No," Feyre admits. "Normally...they're just brought here right after...but it's allowed. I mean, whatever's more comfortable for you."

‍She doesn't know what to say, so she deflects. "Did Elain not want to escort me?"

‍"She just didn't want to come by until you specifically asked for her."

‍"Why did you come, then?" She's blunt, but she only realizes how it sounds until after it comes out. She isn't trying to be cruel, though.

‍Feyre doesn't bristle. "I wanted to see you. And update you on the Illyrian situation."

‍"The rebels?"

‍"They're doing a good job of keeping their meetings secret," Feyre admits. "But don't worry. We're better."

‍"I'm not worried," Nesta says, and she honestly means it. She remembers the war well. Remembers Cassian's skill, precision, deadliness...no one compares. If he's defending her, there's no cause for concern. Except him, of course. "What is it?"

‍"They know you're at the House." Their spies in Velaris had probably noticed Cassian flying about, had marked Elain moving her things out of her apartment in the city...Nesta isn't scared of any Illyrians tracking her down while she's here, but the idea of some wretch skulking after her sisters in the dark....

‍Feyre continues, "And we do know they want to make a move. But they can't, Nesta. I promise you're safe here."

‍Nesta keeps her voice impassive, almost bored, when she says, "He's gone, though?"

‍Feyre knows whom she means. "Cassian? Well, we're still keeping the House secure...you might hear him or Rhys or Az checking the wards a few times a day, but that's it. No one in the House any longer. Just as you'd prefer it."

‍Nesta blinks. She hadn't realized this threat was real enough to warrant the three of them visiting the House multiple times a day. Perhaps...perhaps there is reason to worry. Or fear.

‍Because she certainly will be afraid...if it happens like last time. Strange faerie males breaking down her door, ripping her out of bed. By her hair, by her arms. Grabbing at her, pinching her. Elain screaming from her room down the hall.

‍"So, you'll go down yourself, then?" Feyre asks, dragging her back to the present.

‍Nesta blinks again, shoving that horrible night out of her mind. "Yes," she says, and because she doesn't want to give herself another moment to slide into that place again, rises to do just that.

Feyre had escorted her down to these doors once before, and they had descended the levels to find Hybern. This time, she is alone, and there are two priestesses waiting for her when she enters.

‍One clearly defers to the other, and she stands behind her. Her hood is set atop her head, and her brown face is pretty aside from some light scarring on either cheek. She smiles and says, "Welcome, Nesta."

‍Nesta cannot tell if the higher priestess smiles or not, for her hood covers her face. But truth be told, even if she were entirely naked, Nesta would only look at her hands, for they are wrecked beyond comprehension. Fingers at wrong angles and parts missing and--

‍"Hello," Nesta blurts out, because it's the only thing she can think to say and she doesn't want to stare. She hates when people stare at her. Her cheeks flame; she's not cut out for this. She can't be around these females.

‍The high priestess lifts her head slightly, enough for Nesta to see that she is, indeed, smiling. A parchment and fountain pen--and quite a good-quality one, she notes--appear out of thin air, making her jump slightly, and in a neat script write out:

‍Welcome, Nesta. I am Clotho, high priestess of the library. This is Thalia, one of our senior priestesses. She'll be showing you the library today. I hope you find it to your liking. I'll see you later today.

‍"Oh," Nesta says, not quite knowing what to reply. "Thank you," she adds, figuring that's as good as anything.

‍Clotho raises her head once more to offer her another smile and then sweeps away, parchment and pen disappearing after her.

‍"Shall we begin our tour, then, Nesta?" Thalia asks. She waits for Nesta to nod before beginning her descent down the spiralling levels of the library.

‍Thalia explains about the different sections of the library, and points out different offices for the other senior priestesses and what their specialties are. They meet some females here and there, and she introduces them, but luckily no one sticks around for a chat. Already Nesta can feel her pulse quickening, sick at the idea of having to be with all these people all the time. She is immensely grateful for her sisters for keeping her alone in the House during the nights, at least.

‍When they reach the fifth level, Nesta stops in her tracks. Thalia looks at her, patient and unhurried.

‍"Is it--back?" Nesta asks, unable to keep the fear out of her voice.

‍Thalia smiles. "Bryaxis has never harmed any of us and is no cause for alarm," she says gently. "But no, it is not returned."

‍No cause for alarm? Cassian was scared of that thing.

‍But if it's not here...fine.

‍"Where's your office?" Nesta says, grasping for a subject so she doesn't have to see the look on Cassian's face when he found her running out of the library in her mind's eye.

‍"Level six," she replies. "Come, let's go there now."

‍Thalia's office is clearly very separate from the library, as it has the least amount of books of any room here. Which is still substantially more than what Nesta guesses the average room in Velaris has, with one wall made up of fully stacked floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and some on the desk in the corner and one on the coffee table in the small sitting area.

‍"Come sit, please, Nesta," Thalia says, choosing a couch for herself. "Well,"she says, when Nesta is settled in an armchair, "what are your first impressions of the library?"

‍"I've been here before."

‍Thalia smiles. "So you have. But you're a bit better informed on our particular brand this time around, aren't you?"

‍Nesta nods.

‍"Well, allow me to explain further. I am the priestess who counsels the females who choose to join us."

‍"Counseling?" she repeats, her heart speeding up. So she's supposed to just tell this female everything about herself? Is that what her sisters expect her to do?

‍"I know that's a loaded word, but I promise it isn't as scary as it sounds."

‍How can she be so cavalier about this? All smiles and twinkling eyes.

‍"We can have sessions as often or as rarely as you'd please. If you'd like, you never have to come to another meeting with me again after this, or any of the classes or sessions my colleagues direct. Except, of course, for our weekly check-in."

‍"What's the weekly check-in?" Nesta asks, because the priestess won't say anything otherwise.

‍"We do one mandatory group session a week where we all check-in with each other. Everyone attends. No one has to speak, but we all attend."

‍All right. Fine. She can do that. Sitting in a room one a week, silent. Listening to other miserable girls talk about their problems.

‍Could be worse, she tries to tell herself.

‍"So what exactly...does life at the library entail?"

‍"Our institution exists for the purpose of preserving and furthering knowledge on every topic we can get our hands on," Thalia says, "but we also serve to help females heal from various traumas. Because everyone is different, there's no one correct way to go about this journey. But a very broad number of sessions and exercises are available to you, and you are welcome and encouraged to try any of them. In addition to these, you will also be invited to work in the library. First you can start with menial tasks, and when you've got your bearings you can be given a more specific assignment.

‍"But the real question, Nesta," the priestess continues, and Nesta startles when she breaks her generic explanation to address her by name, "is what you want life at the library to entail."

‍She clenches her fists at her side, trying to draw the blood away from her cheeks. "What?"

‍"What would you say your goals are?"

‍Her throat tightens. Goals? Nesta hasn't had a goal in...probably since she stopped taking magic lessons with Amren. And for her life, well....

‍"Why don't we start with what urged you to make the decision to come here?"

‍Blinking twice, Nesta says, "My sisters."

‍"Did you come to appease them, or another reason, or a mix of both?"

‍Perhaps it's something in the female's tone, that genuine curiosity, that puts Nesta the slightest bit at ease.

‍"For them, mostly. But...a little bit for me." It sounds stupid when she says it, but Thalia does scoff or roll her eyes--of course not. And that's enough for her to continue, unprompted, "I want to live again."

‍Without missing a beat, Thalia leans over and picks up the book from the table and takes out a pen from the pocket of her robe. "Why don't we figure out how you can do that, then?"

Perhaps it was because of the topic of conversation--Nesta hates talking about herself--but she didn't remember sober conversations being so...difficult.

‍Thalia had coaxed Nesta into telling her the things she most wanted to happen. She had congratulated her on her sobriety--almost a full week, Nesta's mind bit with mock enthusiasm--and encouraged her to take her success there as indication that she is capable of working towards everything else she desires.

‍But so far Nesta is only sober because she lives in a house completely inaccessible to the outside world--unless she wants to hike down ten thousand steps, or ask Rhysand to carry her down--and there is no alcohol inside of it. She can't possibly manage any of her other goals in the real world.

‍"Why not?" Thalia had asked. "And who says this isn't the real world?"

‍That was fair. So Nesta shrugged, and after a painstaking few hours, they had a list of things Nesta wanted to do for now, comprised of a sentence Nesta worded and then Thalia's additions.

Not drift off inside her own head for undetermined amounts of time -> determine triggers.

Not always feel like she needs alcohol -> find productive coping mechanisms.

Be able to talk to Elain and Feyre normally -> determine what is stopping her since all three of them want the same thing.

Start reading again.

The fourth one Thalia had been very pleased to hear, and she had left as Nesta said it.

"I'd be happy to give you some recommendations, if you'd like," she'd said.

"There are romances in the House," she said. She had spotted some on the shelves in her room that hadn't been there last time. And who knew when the next time she was going to have sex was? Who knew if she'd ever have sex again? So she'd better find a good novel.

She didn't tell the priestess that, of course.

So after a morning of that, and a quiet lunch of one slice of toast by herself in the House--not much, but more than she'd expected to have. The detoxing must've given her the slightest bit of appetite again--Nesta descends down to the library again to begin her new job of shelving books.

The work isn't so bad. Dusty, and tedious, but it's good enough at distracting her from herself, because she doesn't know the library well enough for it to be mindless. After a few hours of this, a strong bell rings out--the call to prayer. The priestess all make their way to the same place, leaving Nesta alone in the library for half an hour, then they are back. No one asks her why she didn't join. No one asks her anything at all the whole day, until a second, softer bell rings out, and the priestesses begin to leave for dinner, and she back up to the House, and Clotho waits for her at the door.

Hello, Nesta, she charms her pen to write for her. How was your first day?

"All right," she says. It was. It was...fine. Not terrible.

Thalia tells me she's very impressed with your progress.

Nesta blinks. She hasn't done anything.

Clotho huffs a small sound of amusement, swaying her hood slightly. It can generally take a long while for someone to share with Thalia as much as you did.

I noticed you seemed interested in the Wats books.

At this, Nesta blushed slightly. Children's books, tall tales. "I hadn't realized I was being watched."

Clotho only waits.

"Yes," she says eventually. "I...like stories."

One of our senior priestesses is giving a series of lectures on the history of children's literature. There's one tomorrow. Perhaps you'd like to join.

The pink tinge in Nesta's cheeks hasn't fully faded. "Maybe."

Was there something else you wanted to say, Nesta?

Is it that obvious? Nesta's always thought she's good at keeping her thoughts off her face, but Clotho and Thalia seem to see right through her.

"I still don't understand how this is supposed to work," she admits.

Clotho lifts her head to show her another smile. I'm afraid "this" will require some patience. We want to find the right path for you. In the meantime, however, you are welcome to join sessions or lectures, and I will figure out an assignment for you within the coming weeks.

You have nothing to worry about, Nesta, Clotho adds. You're going to do so well. You're stronger than you think you are.

She has to say that to everyone, Nesta supposes, but she nods anyway, and turns to go up into the House.

Dinner is as quiet as lunch was, and Nesta manages to stomach another slice of toast and even some raw celery. Anything hot or rich, Nesta finds, is too much for her to bear, and she can't keep down. Even buttering her toast is too much for her. The House doesn't seem to grow impatient with her as she uncertainly, almost shyly, asks it for new foods. Just to see if she can smell them without growing nauseated. Small steps. Perhaps one day she'll be able to eat normally again.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps she'll be this wretched, vile, pathetic thing--

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It's not an uncommon occurrence, for Cassian's deep voice to echo in her mind, but it's been some time since they've felt so...comforting.

Your sisters love you. I can't for the life of me understand why, but they do. Yes, that had spun around in her mind for months. And most nights, sometimes even with another male's arms around her...I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.

He hadn't meant it. Or...he had in the moment and then without the looming threat, he had changed his mind. Or she had done something...

But this is real.

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It feels real. It feels honest and true and tonight, it is enough to drive out other thoughts, enough to spur her into choosing a book to start, enough to make her forget that she wanted the fifth thing on that list to be Not be so awful and disgusting and useless and pathetic because if he think she's not, then she's not.

It's enough to make her think she's doing the right thing, and enough to make her do it again tomorrow.

The next day, no one seeks Nesta out for a session. Some of the senior librarians say hello to her, but she is mostly left to her own devices and continues shelving books on her own. She does so all morning, and she expects to do so all afternoon, but around two, a priestess approaches her and asks her if she wants to join her lecture circuit on the history of children's literature. There's no real reason not to go, so Nesta agrees.

‍The room is smaller than the ones Father had once described to her were at higher institutes on the continent. It's the right size for the dozen or so priestesses already sitting in a semi-circle, facing a black board where a charmed piece of chalk already begins to write.

‍Nesta sits in an empty seat on the edge of the semi-circle, next to a copper-haired priestess, with her hood hanging at her shoulders. Actually, Nesta muses to herself as she studies the girl out of the corner of her eye, she might not even be a priestess at all. She isn't wearing that necklace they all have on their foreheads. It's nice to think that there's someone else here who doesn't worship that thing.

‍The lecture is interesting, if a bit confusing at times. Nesta is largely unfamiliar with children's stories over the Wall--there had been no magical quests or enchanted objects in her childhood. The witches and sorcerers and faeries had always been the villains.

‍But it's nice. To learn something new, to hear it from someone who is clearly passionate about it.

‍When the lecture is over, the priestess--Calliope--talks to her while the other girls file out.

‍"To your liking?" she asks, blunt.

‍"Yes," Nesta answers.

‍"Thalia said you might like some recommendations. What are you interested in?"

‍"Anything good. Romances."

‍"Are you well-versed in fae classics?"

‍"No," Nesta says. She's fairly well versed in human classics, though.

‍"I'll get you started. I'll have a pile ready for you by the end of the day."

‍"I...thank you," she says.

‍The priestess nods once and turns on her heel to leave.

‍Nesta blinks. She didn't realize priestesses could be...not so like Thalia or Clotho and maybe more...like her. Back when she was like herself, at least. She shakes herself a little and walks out of the room, too.

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" asks a clear, pretty voice from behind.

‍Nesta turns. The ginger possibly-not-priestess.

‍"Excuse me?"

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" she repeats, taking a step closer.

‍Tensing slightly, Nesta says, "She asked me if I liked her lecture."

‍"Well?"

‍Hands now fisted at her sides, Nesta says, "I beg your pardon?"

‍"Well, did you like it?"

‍"I did," Nesta says shortly.

‍"Do you think you'll be assigned to her?"

‍"I..."

‍"You haven't been assigned yet. I mean, you're new, so that's not unusual, but since you don't live with us and you're only coming now we wondered if you were going to be assigned earlier."

‍Nesta raises an eyebrow. "We?"

‍The girl offers her a sheepish grin. "It's not every day we get someone new. We...the other girls and I...we were just a little curious."

‍"Hm."

‍"Well, do you think you want to be assigned to her? I'm Gwyenth Berdara, by the way, I'm another student here."

‍"Nesta."

‍"I know. You're the High Lady's sister and you slew the King of Hybern."

‍Nesta freezes slightly, for a moment. Then she says, "I didn't. I stabbed him."

‍"Oh," Gwyneth says, teal eyes widening. "Well...they call you kingslayer. Not kingstabber. It's a better nickname," she adds, when Nesta doesn't say anything. "As far as nicknames go. Mine's Gwyn, by the way. Or what everyone calls me. Not as suave as kingslayer, but what can you do?"

‍Gwyneth Berdara...talks more than Morrigan.

‍"Sorry," Gwyn says, laughing a little. "We're not supposed to overwhelm you. I just...wanted to talk to you."

‍"Were you told not to overwhelm me?" Were those Feyre's orders, she wonders.

‍"Just anyone new. But...some girls don't talk for weeks, and you've already come to a lecture on your second day. And you talked to Thalia for a long time yesterday."

‍"I hadn't realized I was being studied."

‍Gwyn laughs. "This library's smaller than you think. So, you liked the lecture? Do you think you'll come to the next one?"

‍"Probably." What else is there to do?

‍"I like Calliope's circuits. She's always doing something interesting, if you like books. Do you like books?"

‍"I do."

‍"Well. Then you'll probably like her circuits."

‍They are both silent for a few moments, before Nesta realizes it is probably her turn to initiate conversation. "How long have you been here?"

‍"Two years, about." She is quiet for a beat, before she adds, "Lord Azriel and Lady Morrigan brought me here."

‍Nesta blanches. She's never heard them referred to with their titles before.

‍"Do you like staying at the House of Wind?"

‍"I...it's all right. Yes," she decides. "I like it." Why not? It gave her a standing bath. It keeps the fireplaces empty and uses some other form of magic, she thinks, to heat her room.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, and Nesta thinks she deflates a bit. "I thought you might prefer to stay in our dorms."

‍"I'm not very religious." That's polite. Nesta actively hates their god. Or whatever the cauldron is supposed to be. Demon, more like.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, blinking in surprise. "Oh. Well. That's all right. If you...ever change your mind. And you want to stay in our dormitories, I could help you find a room."

‍"Thank you," Nesta says.

‍Again, they are both quiet. Perhaps neither of them has had a friendly conversation in a while.

‍With a jolt, Nesta realizes--this has been a friendly conversation.

‍Nesta tries to grasp at something to say, something friendly. Has she been friendly? Or has she been cold this entire time? No, if the girl has been talking to her all the while, she must have been friendly. It's not as though Nesta's never been friendly in her life. She's had friends before. Clare and Joyly and Heather. She knows how. Even if none of them had thought her a good enough friend to bother trying to talk to her after she had distanced herself, after Tomas, after Feyre--

‍"I have to be getting back to my priestess. We're researching dimensions and other worlds. But I'll see you, Nesta." With a small wave, Gwyn bounds away.

‍"See you," she calls after her.

‍That...that's good, isn't it? Probably something Elain and Feyre would be pleased to hear. Maybe she should tell them. Invite them up for dinner.

‍Or is it too pathetic? One cordial conversation isn't anything to write home about. But maybe they'd like to know she's doing better; pathetic as her version of better is.

‍I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

‍Maybe...maybe she should.

‍She'll just write them a letter, she decides. No, that's too formal. But sending them up is too dramatic...but if they want to come see her--

‍Nesta pinches herself. Hard. Enough till she's only focussing on the pain, so these incessant, stupid thoughts are driven out of her head.

‍Just go back to shelving books, she tells herself. Just put away the books and don't think about anything else.

‍Her mind does stray, though, and she wonders if any of the minuscule steps she takes in the right direction are worth the spiralling she has to go through after.

Despite her echoing anxieties, her physical weakness, and sheer exhaustion of being herself, Nesta does manage to get through the weekend--Feyre does not visit, but she and Elain both send up letters, decorated with little paintings and pressed flowers--and to the weekly check-in on Sunday. She doesn't know what to expect, but Gwyneth Berdara is there in the large hall, where they all sit in a circle, and waves her over.

‍"Good morning," she says.

‍"Good morning," Nesta answers.

‍"First weekly check-in."

‍"Yes."

‍"You don't have to say anything, if you don't want to. I didn't for months. Ten months, actually."

‍She certainly does talk a lot now, though.

‍"I didn't realize there were so many females here," Nesta says, looking around. Dozens of girls...probably more than fifty, plus the twelve higher priestesses. Gwyn is the only one who doesn't wear the necklace on her forehead.

‍"A lot don't wander so much. Some don't come out of their rooms except for this."

‍"Oh," Nesta says. So it's...good, then. That she can still go places. Talk to people. Maybe she really isn't as hopeless as she thinks.

‍Not that these females are hopeless. That's not what she thinks. Oh, that's a horrible thing to think, especially after what they've been through--

‍"That's Merrill," Gwyn says, pointing at a senior priestess. "I'm assigned to her."

‍Carefully, Nesta says, "Maybe I'll be assigned to her, too."

‍"Ooh, you better hope not. Merrill's the worst." Gwyn shudders.

‍"What?" Nesta asks. "Aren't they all supposed to be nice?"

‍Gwyn scoffs. "Says who? Are you nice?"

‍"I...guess not," Nesta says. "But I'm not a senior priestess."

‍"All right, that wasn't nice," Gwyn admits. "Sorry. You're right. She should probably be nicer. She should definitely be nicer...and you're all right."

‍"I'm not nice." She has never been nice.

‍Gwyn shrugs. "Well, I like you anyway."

‍Nesta's heart stutters. "Er--why don't you ask Clotho to reassign you?" she asks, pulse pounding in her ears.

‍Gwyn crosses her arms. "I can stick it out."

‍Is that what she looks like, Nesta wonders, to other people?

‍She should tell her something. This Gwyn. Tell her to switch priestesses. Or...tell Merrill to be nicer. Or tell Clotho to tell Merrill to be nicer. Or maybe she can do it for her.

‍"Good morning, everyone," Thalia starts, and Nesta's eyes snap to her. "Let's begin, shall we?"

‍The weekly check-in is mercifully not as terrible as Nesta imagined. There's no announcement of her presence, though she can feel plenty of people stealing glances ("It's not every day we get a Lady of the court in here," Gwyn whispers to her. "Especially not the kingslayer."). Thalia announces changes in the schedule for the week, and one of the other senior priestesses gives a short lecture on her specialty, and then Thalia asks who'd like to begin the circle.

‍The circle, Nesta learns, is the worst of it. Everyone goes around in a circle and introduces themselves by name and says whatever they want. True to Thalia's word, though, no one has to talk, and no one says anything horrible. It's mostly banal, like I worked really hard on a paper last week or I sent my mother a letter and she still hasn't replied and I'm feeling anxious or I don't have anything to say today, but I hope everyone has a good week.

‍And then it is her turn, and who-knows-how-many pairs of eyes are locked on her and she just...can't. She can't. What are they thinking? Gwyn says they call her kingslayer, so they must know what happened.. Are they thinking about how she couldn't save her father? How she killed one thousand Illyrian soldiers? How about how she drowned herself in alcohol, how the mark of its loss is still clearly etched in the bruises under her eyes, the dullness of her hair, the sallowness of her skin. How ugly she is, how she never deserved anything better than that slew of nameless males who didn't care about her, how she just fails at everything she tries--

‍"My name is Gwyn. I had a good week."

‍The next girl speaks, and the eyes are--finally--off Nesta.

‍Gwyn touches her shoulder. "Don't worry about it," she says in a hushed voice. "At least you didn't cry."

‍Nesta manages a small smile. It might look more like a grimace, but Gwyn gives her a grin.

‍"It's really not half as embarrassing as you think," she whispers. "Everyone here is way more concerned with what others think of them...until you realize no one's thinking about that."

‍Maybe she's just saying that.

‍But...maybe she can just believe it. Just for now.

‍The weekly check-in ends, and the week passes by.

‍Nesta doesn't get assigned to a priestess, but she still--she thinks--makes progress. She may be making a friend, as Gwyn seeks her out a few more times. Sometimes just to say hello, sometimes to ask her if she wants to join her for a lecture or a session. She generally goes. She likes the jewellery making, finding that working with her hands keeps her focused enough that she can't think about herself. All the lectures, actually, Nesta finds interesting, as there's just so much she doesn't know about this world.

‍On Tuesday, she writes a letter to her sisters, telling them she's doing all right, and perhaps they can come visit over the weekend.

‍On Wednesday, she feels hungry and restless--hungry and restless. So she has two slices of bread with soup and she doesn't even feel sick, and she goes for a walk afterwards, on the track circling the outside of the House.

‍On Thursday, she brushes her hair in the morning, and almost none of it is ripped out with the brush. She makes Gwyn laugh with something she says about a lecture they disagreed on. Thalia tells her she thinks she has some ideas for coping mechanisms she wants her to try. She goes for another walk in the evening, even jogging a bit as the House hurries her along with flashing faelights.

‍"What is it?" she says, as she enters the door, gasping slightly. Goodness, she's never been so out of shape in her life. That was barely a run.

‍But the House isn't done yet, flashing more lights, leading her into her bedroom.

‍"Oh...do you...are we playing a game?"

‍The House swings her door--impatiently?--to get her inside, and when she is, it swings shut behind her and disappears into a wall.

‍"Hey!" Nesta says. "What are you--"

‍A tea cart appears in front of her. Nesta can smell the lemon and honey from the kettle as it rolls towards her. One of the armchairs pulls out.

‍"Are we having a tea party?" Nesta asks.

‍As if in answer, a book appears on the coffee table.

‍"Do you want me to read to you?" Nesta asks.

‍The curtains pull shut and her faelights flicker on.

‍"I'll take that as a yes," she says, and sits down to entertain the House. She gives a small huff of a laugh. "You had to finish my walk early, did you?"

There's no way around it: Cassian has never been more pathetic in his life than he is with this female.

‍Whether it's circling her estate, thinking of insults to throw at her, or circling her apartment, imagining himself tossing out the male with her that night and confessing everything to her, or circling the House to sneak a peek of her through one of the Windows...all right, so it's mostly all the same move. Gods, when had he become so predictable?

‍Pathetic, nonetheless.

‍The worst part of it is, he doesn't even try and convince himself to stop anymore. Not when Elain shrieks one morning and says Nesta's invited her and Feyre up for lunch on Saturday. Not when he sees her go out for a walk Wednesday evening--a walk, with a bit more meat on her bones, and a shine to her hair and--he might be too far to tell, but it looks like--life in her eyes.

‍Not joy. Not...excitement. Not even contentment. But life. And that's...so much more than what had been last week.

‍He wonders if it might've consoled her to know that he was just as miserable as she was. More so, even. Because he felt all the pain she did and he also felt his own pain of seeing her that way. Of knowing that fierce, cunning, determined, wildly brave, unnaturally beautiful female was...struggling. So, so hard.

‍Sleeping a level above her each night, and thinking only of her...and knowing she's not thinking of him. Of course not. It was stupid and selfish and stupid again, but...it's true.

‍And her getting better is not for him he tells himself, as he watches her go on a walk for a second evening in a row.

‍(Not that he's watching her. He's checking the wards. It's not as though he knew she'd be out. He didn't. It just happened.)

‍Not for you, he says to himself. Feyre had been clear. This is for checking the wards; to make sure she's safe. And the extra weight on her is not for him to better imagine holding onto something as he presses her against himself; it's so she's healthy. So she doesn't wither and waste away. She is not imagining a stroll through the Night Court botanical gardens with him right now; she's just getting fresh air.

‍Time to go. Wards are checked, alarms are set, so it's time to go.

‍He doesn't let himself steal another glance--not for you--as he turns to fly away.

‍He should go to the ends of the city. Shake this off him, put his head on straight. This is pathetic. This is just sad. Maybe he should go out with Mor. He did this for her, didn't she? For five hundred odd years. She can do this for him. Maybe he can even meet someone, just for a night, just a distraction--

‍But Nesta is all he sees when he closes his eyes. The beautiful woman she once was, the sickly female she is now, and guilt and revulsion rock him to his core at the very thought of someone else...

‍Pathetic, since she doesn't want him, and probably never will. No, not probably, just never.

‍Three clear bells ring out in the distance, and self-pity and misery snap out of Cassian as blinding fear takes their place.

‍The alarms.

‍Nesta.

‍He is on his way, flying faster than he ever has in his life, before he even registers it. And for the first time, he wishes he were like Rhys or Az and could winnow--prays one of them is already there, or both of them, to fight off whoever it is, to keep her safe--oh gods--oh, she's so scared, she's terrified, she's afraid for her life--and the priestesses--

‍Rhys and Az are already there, inside the House, and there are half a dozen. Illyrians. Illyrians.

‍So they were right. He hadn't wanted to believe it. Doesn't want to believe it. That they would ever...that they would dare...

‍Cassian can't think, just has to move, get them out, kill--

‍"No," Rhys snarls at him.

‍Dimly, Cassian knows why. They're plotting a rebellion. To take over their court, and to give Nesta over to their enemy. Direct attacks against the royal bloodline. They need to be interrogated. They can't be killed.

‍But they can't live. They're going to hurt Nesta; they can't be allowed to live.

‍INCAPACITATE, Rhys barks to his mind.

‍Fine. He will. But he doesn't have to make it clean.

‍He does it quick, though. Nesta's scared. She's probably hiding somewhere, scared for her life. He needs to do it quickly for her.

‍They're fair warriors, but no match for the three of them. It's not close to being a fair fight. It's only a few minutes before he and Az have knocked out the six of them--Az letting him do the brunt of it--and Rhys drags back another two who had gone off to find Nesta.

‍"Easy," Rhys snaps at him.

‍"Calm down or go," Az adds. "Nesta's in her room. She's safe."

‍"You'll scare her."

‍"I won't," Cassian says, growling.

‍Rhys unceremoniously drops the two Illyrians on the floor next to the six others. "Well, you've already destroyed her living room," he says drily, "and you're covered in blood."

‍"Not mine." Not enough.

‍"Calm down," Rhys says, and this time it's an order.

‍Cassian takes a deep breath. "She's in her room?"

‍"I can bring Feyre up--"

‍"Bring her, but I want to see her. She needs to see me." The words come out of their own accord, but neither of his brothers corrects him.

‍"We'll both go," Rhys says. "Az...take care of this."

‍Az nods once, and they go down the stairs.

‍Nesta's scent grows stronger as they descend. Not much fear that he can detect, though. None of the bitterness of adrenaline. Just that sweet, gutting floral, mixed with traces from books she's always buried in. And, he realizes pleasantly, no alcohol.

‍When they get to her floor, Nesta's bedroom door is missing. In place is a wall. Before he can hurl himself at it to break it down, it morphs back into a door, and Rhys is there, knocking, again before Cassian can move.

‍"Nesta?" he calls out. "It's safe."

‍Cassian can hear her shuffling around before she comes to open the door.

‍He fights to keep upright and still as her eyes meet his, widening more than he's ever seen.

‍"What happened to you?" she asks, voice stronger and clearer than he's heard in a long time. Beautiful, lyrical, even if she does sound appalled. "Did you come from a battlefield?"

‍"How did you get the door to change into a wall?" Rhys asks her. "That was clever. Was that your magic?"

‍Nesta blinks at him. "No...the House was playing a game."

‍"You play games with the House?" Cassian says softly.

‍She turns to him again.

‍Yes, look at me, look at me, look at me, Nesta Nesta Nesta--

‍"I...we're friendly." She tinges pink.

‍"You're friends with the House?" Rhys says, blankly.

‍She reddens still--yes.

‍"Why are you covered in blood?" she says again.

‍"You...don't know what happened?" Rhys asks carefully.

‍Nesta rolls her eyes--oh, gods, how he's missed seeing her irritated. Oh, maybe she'll turn red again. "Obviously not."

‍"The important thing to remember is that you're safe," Rhys says, his voice patient and gentle.

‍Nesta shoots him a sharp look, fully aware he's never taken that tone with her.

‍"What is it? What's happened?"

‍Oh, brilliant--now she's scared.

‍Cassian takes a step closer. "The House was breached," he says to her, and her face pales. "But that's what the alarms are for. They worked. And we all got here, and we've got them. Now we're going to figure out who else is working with them. We're going to keep you safe."

‍Nesta looks up. "I was safe. I am, I mean. The House...I didn't even hear anything. It just told me to come into my room and gave me some tea and asked me to read to it."

‍"It asked you to read to it?"

‍"I thought it was a game." Nesta moves past them, walking upstairs. She gasps slightly when she reaches the main floor and sees the state of the living room.

‍Cassian ignored the pointed look Rhys gives him. "I can clean it up." Thank the Mother Az has already gotten the eight of them out.

‍But the House already appears to be doing so itself. It even moves some furniture around, away from a wall that's been badly damaged.

‍Nesta sucks in a breath as she walks towards it and crouches down on the floor. "Oh...did they hurt you?" she says, quietly to...to the House. "I'm sorry. I...thank you for keeping me safe. I'll...I can fix this for you. I'll get you something to fix it." She puts her palm on the cracks and craters, as if stroking the hurt.

‍You will not, Cassian tells himself sternly, be jealous of a house.

‍Pathetic. Just...pathetic.

‍"Your sisters will want to see you," Rhys says. "Maybe you should spend the night at our home."

‍"No," Nesta says, not turning from the wall. "I'm staying here. Oh!" She leaps up, whipping around, face white again. "Is--are--the library, was it--"

‍"The library is fine," Rhys says smoothly. "The priestess are all fine. They wouldn't have even heard any of this."

‍Nesta breathes a sigh of relief. "All right," she says. "That's...that's good. All right."

‍"Are you sure you don't want to come down, Nesta?" Rhys asks, voice kind again.

‍"Yes," she says. "But Elain and Feyre can come up if they want to," she adds. "I'm all right, though. Really. I know I'm safe here." She touches the wall again.

‍Nevermind that it's he who's covered in blood, who fought them off for her. It's the walls she's grateful to, the walls she reads to and plays games with--

‍Shut up, idiot, shut up.

‍"We'll go bring them up, then. Unless...would you like one of us to stay with you?"

‍"I'm really fine."

‍"All right. Well...we'll be back in a few minutes."

‍Nesta nods and turns around to put her hands on the wall again, to talk to the House.

‍Rhys, the bastard, takes notes and gives him a grin as they step off the veranda and fly down to the riverfront manor together.

‍"I was jealous a lot before Feyre told me she loved me, but never--"

‍"Shut up," he snarls, and Rhys has the audacity to laugh.

‍He doesn't mind so much. Nesta's safe and...she's doing better and eating and going on walks and she has a friend.

‍Even if it is just a house.

#acosf fic #nessian fic #i know this feels more like a nesta/house of wind fic #but there will be nessian eventually i promise #also yayyyy gwyn!!!